


In The Pits of Insanity

by Silver__Hawk



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Suicide Squad (2016), Suicide Squad (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Suicide Squad (2016) Fusion, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Harleen Quinzel Needs a Hug, Harleen Quinzel Realizes A Thing Or Two..., Inspired by Suicide Squad (2016), Jason Todd Deserves Better, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd-centric, Mentioned Bruce Wayne, Minor Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel, POV Jason Todd, Post-Suicide Squad (2016), Suicide Squad (2016) Spoilers, Suicide Squad as Family, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Teambuilding, Teamwork
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23947690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver__Hawk/pseuds/Silver__Hawk
Summary: After Nightwing arrests the Red Hood and gets him shipped off to Belle Reve's solitary confinement, Jason's life goes from bad to worse.I mean, he should have figured that Amanda Waller would jump at the chance to draft a bat into her elusive TaskForce X project.What Jason didn't expect, was to actually start liking these crazy criminals... And it's rather alarming how easily the 'suicide squad' starts to act more like a family than the bats do.Or- Jason joins the Suicide Squad, reluctantly makes friends, convinces Harley Quinn that the Joker's a freak, and actually gets to kill the bad guys for once.But this time, Batman can't stop him...(Connected One shots {plus} Requested One shots)Updated: 7/5/2020
Comments: 363
Kudos: 723





	1. Meeting the Team (Part 1)

Desperate men stooped to desperate levels. Jason Todd was no exception; but as he walked escorted by two guards and one Amanda Waller, he began to wonder if his desperate measures had driven him beyond the point of no return. The cold informal walls of Belle Reve gave way to a tarmac full of heavily armored cars. The empty back was opened, and Jason willingly hopped inside, sitting on one of the cold metal benches and watching absentmindedly as the doors were shut behind him.

Sitting back, he felt the van hum to life, replaying his life choices in his head. Really it started the day he asked to be robin, a culmination of events landing him in Belle Reve, and subsequently Amanda Waller's TaskForce X. But hey, it'd been one heckuva deal. Three years serving on the TaskForce in exchange for a clean record and a new name.

Apparently, joining TaskForce X hadn't been a choice. Amanda had told him plainly that he wouldn't be getting his stay in Belle Reve no matter what. Of course he had just told her that he had no qualms about dying _again._ He'd see to it that one of their rambunctious and top secret missions would be his last, unless she agreed to his deal. Of course Waller hadn't been pursuaded easily, but apparently the woman had a healthy respect for Gotham's Batman and a certain Alien Metropolis Boyscout with ties to the newspaper. Regardless of the tenuous relationship between Todd and the Bat, no one wanted to see what happened when Waller got the Red Hood killed for a second time. 

Some would call Jason's threat suicidal. He called it a bluff, one that got Amanda worried enough to fold. So that's how one Jason Todd earned himself a seriously reduced prison sentence and a spot on Waller's top secret TaskForce X. She hadn't stopped giving him a cold yet somewhat impressed glare.

* * *

"So where are we?" Jason huffed, casting a glance at the underground parking garage the van had pulled into as the guards unloaded him. The place was filled with vans and armed guards. They put the guards at Belle Reve to shame; but then again, some of the most dangerous criminals in the world were being held at this facility. According to Bruce's files, Belle Reve had been the first base of operations for the TaskForce... until the Joker broke Harley out.

"That's confidential." Waller replied calmly, walking slightly ahead towards a raised platform with ramps leading up to it. There was a door leading deeper into the base; and for the first time since this wild adventure began, he began to actually get worried. His fingers curled until crescent moons from his nails began indenting his palms. He closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath. He tried not to take into account the fact that they were under ground. 

"Hood."

He inhaled, jerking his gaze to the tall austere looking woman. She had an eyebrow raised. He straightened his shoulders. "I hate being underground." He remarked coolly. No way was he saying why. He didn't _need_ to give Amanda ways to antagonize him. So wisely, he clammed up and trudged towards the door in the wall. Amanda used both a hand print and a retinal scan to open the door, ushering him into a lobby like room with three more doors, one on each wall. There was a table next to the door on the left, a scientist with a wicked looking injector standing next to it.

"Tracker." The word rolled off Hood's lips before he could think to stop it. "Knowing you, probably explosive too. Gotta have some way to keep the crazies in line."

"Astute observation." Amanda replied, stopping at the door and turning to face him. Jason, without prompting, pulled the neck of his orange jumpsuit down to make it easier. Nothing quite prepared him for the hiss and temporary blinding pain as a piece of metal was inserted into the muscle. An ultra sound reader was pressed to his neck, a hand held monitor displaying the capsule to the scientist.

"Gah!" He mumbled, rubbing his neck and batting the device away. "Could'a warned me."

Waller folded her hands behind her back. "You are not to kill or attempt to kill any of your fellow team mates. Those chips have a stun capacity that is... unpleasant." Jason pressed his lips together silently. "If a guard tells you to do something, you are expected to obey without question. Attempts to escape are ill-advised. Since you'll have minimal interaction with the guards, it will be nigh near impossible as well. I stop in once a day. Any questions you might have are to be directed to me then. Do you have any questions?"

Jason stared at her silently.

"That's what I thought." She huffed, undoing his cuffs and stepping aside. In addition to the typical hand print and retinal scan, this door required two different vocal commands and a code. The cold, metal door with a reinforced glass window the size of a mail slot pulled into the wall. Jason walked through without invitation, listening to the silent hiss as it slid closed. He expected something cold and informal, not a shoddy attempt at a high tech apartment. He was standing in a big living room with a TV in a cage on the wall. There were couches, a shelf bolted to the wall with board games and hard cover books, and a rug. The walls ended a good forty feet up, and above that was an empty space with Catwalks and guards. He realized that the roof was way above the walls, giving it a slightly empty feel.

There was an arch leading into the kitchen, where the distinct sound of chatter could quite clearly be heard. Picking his way past the couches and coffee table, he meandered into the kitchen. As his foot cross the threshold, five heads turned his direction. At the same time, Waller's cold and formal drone could be heard blaring across the speakers. "TaskForce. Meet your newest member. Play nice and try not to kill him. I don't want Batman breathing down my neck and neither do you." There was a click as Waller went offline, leaving a slightly irked Jason Todd standing in the door.

_Thanks Waller. Just brand me as a bat kid now why don't ya..._

Floyd Lawton was staring at him, jaw tight; Quin was looking a few shades paler than normal; Santana was smiling slightly, not looking either intimidated or upset to see him; Harkness didn't bother to even look at him; and croc, or Jones, was giving him an indecipherable look. Jason stood there awkwardly for a moment.

Finally, when it became evident no one had anything to say, the nineteen year old rubbed the back of his head. "Is there a bathroom around here? Waller didn't let me go before I left Belle Reve."

That seemed to break the tension, Santana pointing to a hallway just off the kitchen. Jason walked down the hall, hesitant to turn his back to his new 'roomies.' There were four bedrooms with bunks and a bathroom. He slipped in the bathroom, closed the door, and gripped the sink. Just what the heck had he gotten himself into?

* * *

"Holy crap." Harkness breathed, finally looking up with wide eyes. "Did Waller seriously throw a Bat in with us?"

"Can't say it's a bad idea." Santana shrugged.

"Which one is he, though? And why's he in here?"

"The second Robin." Everyone stilled at Harley's voice. She had pushed her plate away. "Goes by Red Hood these days, the only Bat that kills. Word was that his own brother turned 'im in... He's been in Belle Reve's solitary for a coupla' months now."

"Sheesh." Lawton huffed. "I knew the bats had problems but throwing your own family in jail-"

"There's no one more emotionally constipated than the batman." Everyone jumped at Hood's reappearance, whipping around to face the door. He was leaning with his shoulder against the door frame, a wary look in his aquamarine green tinged gaze. "And Nightwing had his reasons for throwing me in Belle Reve." The kid walked over, grabbing Harley's plate of food without permission and standing a good distance from the rest of them. He glanced up. The guards were keeping a watchful gaze on the huddle of criminals from their perch far above.

"You could always get your own grub." Harley hissed, eyes boring into his darkly. She didn't know everything about the second Robin, only that her precious Mistah J had done him in at some point... and his death didn't stick.

"Sure." Jason replied, taking a bite with Harley's fork, wrinkling his nose and putting the steak back down. "Gross, overcooked. I think I will."

"What's your problem, man?" Lawton demanded. "You walk in here like you own the place, and-"

"I don't own the place. If I did, you all would be dead." Hood cut in, eyes gleaming angrily. "Especially her-" He pointed at Quinn. "As it stands, it was either join _with_ benefits or _without_ . So I chose benefits. I don't have to like this particular arrangement, and neither do you..."

"Why aren't you out there like Katana?" Santana asked, not at all maliciously.

"Because I'm a wanted criminal, a purebred crime alley crime lord... to be specific. Ask Harley. She'd know... since I wiped out her and Joker's gang a few month back."

"Found my general's head in a bag." Harley murmured, poking at her food. Lawton shot Hood a distrustful look. The carefully created ease amongst the criminals had vanished. Waller was insane for throwing a member of the elusive batfamily in their little gang of insanity driven nutcases. How did she plan on integrating him into the team? The sad part was that Jason looked as wary of them as they were of him.

"Katana's already on Waller's payroll... I turned down the offer months ago... should'a taken it; but hey... we're both walkin' away somewhat happy. I join her lively little pets for a few years, and then get my record scrubbed."

_As if._

Jason wasn't stupid enough to think that Waller had any intention of upholding her end of the deal. He'd cross that bridge when and if he got to it. Worst case scenario, he could escape and go back to being Gotham's most wanted criminal gang lord. The looks of disbelief on their faces proved that Jason's suspicions were well founded. In the eyes of Amanda Waller, if she didn't uphold her end of the deal, who'd know?

"Hopefully, we can come to trust each other." Santana stated finally, looking him dead in the eye with a strange sincerity. Jason knew who he was, knew his tragic past. He didn't harbor quite the same distaste for the man as he did for Deadshot, Boomerang, or Quinn. Croc, who hadn't said a word, snorted in agreement. The others didn't look quite so sure that they wanted to cast their lots in with a bat. Not that Jason could honestly blame them.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if he could somehow survive the next few years with his mortal, semi-hated enemies.

* * *

Santana had graciously offered to bunk with him, as had croc. Since Croc required a lot more room, Jason took Santana's room. The bedrooms weren't ornate or even pretty, cold metal walls with one bunk bed, two trunks and a side table. The lamp was solid metal and bolted down. Jason retreated from the kitchen warily, taking the bottom bunk and keeping his back to the wall, face to the door. He tried to look relaxed, but the stress was actually getting to him.

Criminals were adept at finding ways around the rules. Thankfully, guards kept eyes on them at all times up in the catwalks that crisscrossed above the mini-house. Unfortunately that meant even the bathroom wasn't private. Jason felt like his bottom bunk was probably the safest place for him. Waller had given them basic amenities, but no real weapons... Well Jason could probably kill someone with a pencil. He recalled seeing that in a movie somewhere. 

He could make do.

Jason had done intensive research into the TaskForce back when he thought they might be a threat to his Gotham operations. He hadn't known Quinn was on the team. And that spooked him. Sleeping anywhere near her was a freaking nightmare. He had already done a thorough check for anything crow bar related. It had gotten a few raised eyebrows. Hours passed, and he hadn't moved. The chatter died, people took turns in the bathroom, occasionally peeking in curiously or with contempt.

Finally Santana walked in, arms filled with books. He kicked the door shut behind him. "I brought books. Do you like to read?"

"No." Jason replied a little too quickly. At Santana's skeptical look, he sighed. "Whaddya got?"

"Shakespeare, O'Henry, H.G Wells... Classics mostly."

"They're the best." Jason remarked, watching carefully as Santana laid the books out. "I never was into them graphic novels or young teen books." He rubbed his hand across the heavy covers, choosing a collection of Shakespearian plays."

Santana hummed in acknowledgment. "I was always partial to O'Henry. He had a good way of twisting the endings of his stories."

"Yeah. I s'pose that's true. Trying to decipher Shakespeare's always been a pretty nice challenge though. My teachers said I had a knack for it..." Jason opened the scraggly book, feeling the bed jolt as Santana climbed up to the top bunk with his choice of books. "So how'd you convince Waller to give ya a place like this?"

"We pulled enough missions off and, Waylon requested it. No one really argued... Think Waller has a soft spot for 'im. Not sure why though."

"Eh he's not all bad. I read B's reports on 'im."

"B?"

"Batman."

"Oh. I didn't realize you had an endearing term for someone so troublesome to your operations."

"I called 'im that when I was Robin... never really dropped it I guess."

Santana went silent, the sound of pages rustling filling the room. Jason's mind was only half on his reading, the bat side never letting its guard down. He wouldn't be lulled into a false sense of security. While he didn't deem Santana or Croc a threat at the moment, he had much to fear from Deadshot and Quinn. He wasn't sure what he thought about Boomerang, just that the total decimation Boomerang had wrought upon the flash museum was more than a little amusing. He wondered how much it would cost to get someone to take out the batburger.

Despite Jason's best attempts to stay awake, he dropped off around 3:00 Am.

* * *

He heard screaming, felt someone gripping his arms, shaking him, calling his alias. That's when he realized he'd been screaming. Why? He couldn't remember. Fragments of a dream gone by twirled in the farthest reaches of his mind, jumping just beyond mental grasp. He gasped, eyes flying open. Santana's tattooed face was just in front of him, fingers digging almost painfully into Jason's bicep.

"Hood... are you with me?"

Jason nodded jerkily. "Where's the crowbar?" He croaked, vaguely remembering he was doing something with it... or was something being done to him? He couldn't remember.

"Crowbar?" Santana dragged the syllables out in confusion. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Nevermind." Jason shook his head, bringing his knees up to his chest as the former gang member released him and stepped back. He wasn't going to apologize for waking anybody. Because they probably deserved it. He hoped somewhere in the back of his muddle mind that Harley had been properly spooked by his haunted cries. "You can go back to bed now."

"Hm." Santana sat at the other end of Jason's bed, clearly with no intent to go anywhere. "Is this a regular occurrence?"

"There's a reason they say bats never sleep ya'know." The retired boy wonder remarked, letting the cool wall soothe his back. "We've seen enough crap to give the boogieman nightmares... But why do _you_ care?"

"You're young, I'd wager not even twenty."

"Maybe... maybe not."

"And-" Santana continued. "You're stuck with us... like it or not. We might as well forego unnecessary fighting. It'll get us nowhere... not if we want to survive."

"Know a lot about survival huh?"

"I know enough."

"Well... thanks." Cause Jason was too tired to figure out anything biting in response to that somewhat touching remark. He'd figure it out later. Santana had to have a double motive. He wanted something. Of that Jason was certain."

* * *

The next morning, Santana was gone when Jason woke up. A growl rumbled in his stomach. The silence spooked him, reminded him too much of his cold solitary cell. Something told him he was gonna wish he were. With a sigh, he grabbed the book he threw the covers off, padding across the metal floor and opening the door. Everyone was crowded in the kitchen, quietly whispering to themselves. As soon as he entered the room, it went deadly quiet.

"Don't mind me." Jason huffed. He saw a various assortment of breakfast choices on the counter, mostly cereals and fruit. Jason wrinkled his nose and grabbed an apple, digging his teeth in. Everyone- despite his request- did mind him. He heard the clank of metal and shoes above his head, seeing a whole bunch of guards now aiming rifles down at them. Why? Because the living room door opened, admitting one very irritatingly formal Amanda Waller.

"Task Force X." She called. No one moved. "I trust you had a pleasant night?" This was aimed at Jason more than anyone. He knew for sure that she was aware of his nightmares.

"Kept us up." Lawton griped, spooning super sugary cereal into his mouth. "A----ll night."

Jason shot him a glare. "Well excuse me if her-" He pointed at Quinn. "-ex killing me after days of torture left a bad impression." His snarl had Lawton going wide eyed. He shot a look at Harley who shrugged slightly, not quite meeting anybody's gaze.

" _Enough._ " Amanda sighed. "You have a mission."

* * *

The six of them were herded out of the apartment, Guards flanking them almost immediately. "You're headed to California." Waller declared, walking with a quick gait that the others were forced to match. "Your mission is to capture Deathstroke."

Jason snorted.

"What was that, hood?"

"Ya honestly think we can capture Deathstroke?" Jason asked dryly, not all that afraid to voice his opinion. "He's listed as one of the best mercs in the world for a reason, Waller."

"I'm aware. Your objective is to capture him and the data he stole from one of our couriers. Time will be of the essence." Waller stated. "He's supposed to meet Ra's Al Ghul tonight, meaning lots of assassin back up. That's when I want you to strike." She led the way to the hanger. "I know this isn't one of your typical missions; however we certainly don't plan on calling the league in to deal with it. Remember, if you're discovered, you're on your own. You technically don't exist."

"Yeah yeah." Boomering huffed. "So you've said."

"Gear up and get to the hanger. Colonel Flag will meet you at the drop plane."

Several trunks were being hauled out. Hood didn't bother to ask who Flag was. He knew. His trunk had a red mask painted on the top, and the nineteen year old spotted it quickly. Flicking the latches up, he grinned wickedly when his helmet stared back at him, nestled in the jacket he'd been captured in. Ignoring the others, he quickly slipped out of the tacky orange jumpsuit. His guns were resting beneath the folded clothes, armor piercing rounds sitting in cases next to them.

"Man-" Lawton growled when he saw the weapons. "Shootin's my gig! I bet you can't even aim them things."

Hood snapped the gun out, shooting the boomerang George Harkness was holding up. "Hey! What the Frick!" The slightly overweight criminal yelped, dropping the weapon and glaring daggers at the masked teen. The guards jumped, aiming their rifles at Jason.

Hood smirked, jamming his gun into its holster and raising his hands repentantly. The guards kept their weapons trained on him, and Deadshot scowled.

"That's so not fair."

"Hood, save it for the bad guys." Waller grunted.

"Hey!" Harley yelped in protest. "Last I checked, we _were_..."

* * *

"So you're my newest lackey." An uptight brunette huffed, staring at Red Hood with a frown on his face. Jason's impassive mask stared back.

"From Gang lord to lackey. I always _have_ had a crappy life."

That actually got a chuckle from the Colonel as he sat down and strapped in. "How're they treating you?"

"Like I'm a ticking time bomb." Jason replied casually. "Which, I did kinda ask for."

"Asked for!" Harley yelped. "Ya practically threatened to shoot us all."

"No." Hood amended dryly. "I just said if I were in charge I _would_ have. Gotta get the facts straight, Harleen."

* * *

Red Hood didn't say a word as the plane took off, focusing on popping his ears and not engaging in idle conversation. They were criminals, worse than he was.

"So you were... the second robin?"

He mentally cursed, glancing at Killer Croc. He gripped the restraints in tight knuckled grips.

"Yeah. I _was._ "

"Why'd you give it up?"

"I didn't _give_ it up." Jason snapped, anger lurking in his voice. It was so raw, so obvious that it shut Croc up. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't press."

For the rest of the ride, no one bothered to talk to him.

* * *

"A warehouse... can it get any more cliche?" Hood grumbled, hanging in the shadows with Croc and Harley. Deadshot was covering them from the rooftops, and everyone was poised in wait for Flag's signal.

"Says the guy who stole Mistah J's name."

"He took my life; I took his name. Seems hardly fair... in _my_ favor."

"He always talked about ya." Harley hummed, seeming to ignore the audience. "Said you were his favorite robin to break." Jason clenched his fists.

"I was fourteen." Jason hissed, not missing the look of horror from Santana and the inhale from Flag over the lines. Croc shifted uncomfortably. "He beat me for days with a crowbar and then _blew_ me up. But guess what, _Quinn..._ " Jason glared at her. "I ain't broken.... Not _now_... Not _ever_. So yea, I stole his name. Do ya have _anything_ _else_ to say 'bout it?" He leaned in her face, gun clenched in his white knuckled hand. If he shot her, he doubted anyone was going to stop him. Not before she died at least.

"No." Harley squeaked, putting a finger on the barrel of his gun and pushing it away timidly. "Nothin' at all."

"Good." Jason grabbed his other pistol and nodded his head. "Let's get Deathstroke."

Flag didn't even give him grief for taking over the mission.

* * *

Jason loved the fact that he could fight to kill. For months, he'd honored the bat's code of conduct; but for once he could cut loose and employ his league of assassin's training. He was aware this gave him an advantage against Ra's' men, and created quite a spectacle to the other TaskForce slaves.

He slipped into a familiar fighting style, driving his daggers into men's necks, blasting their skulls open, gutting them with a brutal efficiency that would have made Batman shudder. It was like a fog covered his brain, muscles moving with years of fighting memory to guide them. Only when he got close to the others did he snap back into reality. He had to save Croc from a flash grenade, barely thinking twice about it. The air heated up as Santana engaged Deathstroke. Jason had lost track of Ra's.

"Where's the data?" Jason demanded, getting right in the middle of the fight with Slade. He quickly traded out, letting the 'fire demon' handle the assassins while he ducked a well aimed round house kick.

"Look at you." Slade sneered coldly. "The Bat's most brutal fighter, a slave to the government." He easily parried all of Jason's blows, delivering a few brutal helmet cracking strikes instead. "I could help you." He mutters, spinning Jason and pinning his back to Slade's chest with an arm around the teen's throat.

"No thanks." Jason drops his weight, tucking his chin, sticking his leg out and flipping the assassin. Deathstroke landed flat on his back, receiving a hammer to the face mere moments later in an attack that not even Jason saw coming. It was almost comical how simple yet effective the attack was. Jason just gaped at Quinn, the lopsided grin on her face making his eyes narrow.

"We _needed_ to know where the info was!" Flag growled into their comms. Jason knelt down, tucking his pistol against Slade's chin and patting the assassin down with deft fingers.

"Found it." He slipped a thumb drive from a pouch in Slade's belt. "I can't freaking believe that Harley took him down with one blow."

"I doubt he was expecting a hammer to the face." Deadshot remarked. "Good work Harley."

* * *

{DAY 3}

With astounding praise from Waller, the weary TaskForce turned in. Jason hadn't showered yet, but he didn't dare spend more than a minute in the bathroom... That and having an audience made it awkward. He felt caged in the apartment, surrounded by people who had every reason to hate him, and just as much motive to shoot him in the head. He skipped supper and just crawled in bed, pretending to be asleep. It gave him unique insight.

He was aware of Killer Croc popping his head into his room. Santano hadn't arrived, and Jason had to suppress a wave of panic. Had he been wrong? Did Croc plan on ending him? Weylon walked over, clawed hand stretching out as if to wake him. Then he looked away, grunting softly. Carefully, the beast cleared the books off his bed, setting them in a stack beside the bunk to give Jason more room before he wandered back out. Jason let out a breath. Santana came in an hour later, settling into bed. Soon the lights flicked off, shuffling continued; and it went quiet. An hour later, Jason sneaked out to grab a cup of espresso. Being a bat meant training in the dark. He easily grabbed a cup from the cupboard, turning the machine on and listening to it whir to life.

Just as the machine started filling his cup, Jason tilted his head. A foot step. The lights switched on. The teen spun. Lawton stood in the kitchen doorway, hand falling from the switch.

"You know, normal people usually go to sleep this time of night. Especially when they don't have anything else to be doin'."

"An' who said I was normal?" Jason replied, taking a sip of his coffee. "Bats are nocturnal."

"Yeah don't give me that bull crap." Lawson huffed, crossing his arms. "Move over and let me get a cup." Jason silently complied. With a frown, he watched Lawson make his own espresso, eyes glazed over and half asleep. Jason wondered why Lawson had bothered to join him this late. Maybe it was a matter of trust.... or rather lack there-of. Jason opened the fridge, finding it well stocked with pre-made meals. They were in packages, bland. Jason took a few out, cracking his knuckles and glancing at the stove. He could make this work. Digging through the drawers, he found a few spices in the cabinet, oil, pans, a spatula, and some packets of broth.

"Fine, ya want the truth? I half expect some'ne to drive a pencil through my eye while I'm tryin' to sleep." Jason admitted, heating the oven and grabbing a baking pan. "Ya all have a good reason to hate me."

"True." Lawton admitted, sitting at the bar and watching him curiously. Jason opened a packet of broccoli, another of carrots, and some baby corn. Then he sprinkled some oil in the pan, plopping the vegetables in, mixing them, and sprinkling a myriad of spices over the top. "But that's what the guards are for."

"If ya wanted to kill me, ya could... before they had much a say in it." Jason remarked, pointing up. "Been there. Done that. Not happenin' again."

"I know. You mentioned it." Lawton debated his words carefully. "The Joker, huh?"

"Yeah, we're not talkin' about that." Jason snapped, sliding the pan into the oven. "It's dun an' over with."

"Clearly it isn't. Not if you're bringing it up on public comm channels." The marksman replied, taking a long drought of his coffee, not even wincing when his tongue burned. "Look, I get it. Not great for the tough man image. But it's sick." Jason stared at him in shock.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Lawton, leaned back in his seat. "I don't care about why you're in here, what you've done... The Joker is a sick freak... especially if he brags about torturing and killin' a fourteen year old kid. Doesn't matter if you were robin. That. Is. _beyond_ messed up." Floyd set his mug down, dragging a hand down his face. "I have a kid... not far off from your age. If someone did that to her... I-" He let out a breath. "I'd break. I'd go crazy... and you're right I don't trust you... but I'm not gonna ridicule you about your nightmares anymore. I'm sorry. No one... _No one_ should _ever_ be doing that to a kid... not even a vigilante kid."

Jason wasn't quite sure what to say about that; so he just lowered his head.

"I'm surprised the Batman didn't snap." Lawton continued, failing to realize that he'd wandered into dangerous waters.

"You and me both." It was so bitterly said that Floyd was taken aback. "But he didn't..." Jason lowered his head. "He _didn't_."

"Oh..." That look on the kid's face. Lawton knew exactly what it was. Betrayal, anger, hurt. And somewhere inside, the father in him cried out in outrage... in pity.

* * *

**TBC**


	2. Meeting the Team (Part 2)

{DAY THREE}

"This is really good."

"Thanks." Jason had always loved to cook. He could thank Alfred for knowing how to spruce up bland food. They'd often buy the most mundane things for the sole purpose of sprucing it up, back in the days of the second robin. Jason ignored the pang of sorrow that lanced through his chest. Those days were long gone. He couldn't have them back.

Any discussion of death, the Joker, or how messed up Jason's death was ended with Lawton's less than ceremonious 'Oh.' That was fine with the Red Hood. He hadn't meant to disclose just how painful that entire patch of his life was. It was a weakness, and he was surrounded by people who thrived off exploiting flaws. He found it unsettling that Lawton had tried to lull him into some sort of understanding. Jason killed men like Lawton on a regular basis. How on earth could the marksman feel any sort of sympathy for a guy who would shoot him under better circumstances?

Jason poked at his oven roasted vegetables and pretended he wasn't utterly confounded.

"Hard to imagine a hardened gang lord being a good cook." Lawton joked, shoveling a spoon of corn into his mouth. "But then again, Harley took a master assassin down in one blow... so today is full of surprises."

"I softened 'im up." Jason scoffed, looking mildly offended. "An' my grand-dad taught me to cook."

"That's nice... Is he-?

"No."

When Jason didn't expound, Lawton didn't press. He'd already had supper, but boy could this kid cook. Silently he watched Jason. The kid looked like death warmed over, pale and half asleep. Yet every time his eyes slipped closed in the slightest, he jerked himself awake and shoveled another bite of food in.

"If it makes you feel better-" Lawton finally shattered the silence. "-Santana's a light sleeper. Probably woke up when you left. He won't let anybody kill you John Wick style."

"Thought I saw the pencil thing somewhere." Jason huffed, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

"Seriously, man? You saw John Wick and couldn't even remember the name! What's wrong with you?"

"A lot of things."

"Yeah, I'm startin' to get that." Lawton shook his head. Another long moment of silence, and more of Jason's semi-successful attempts to stay Awake. Lawton could feel the buzz of caffeine in his veins, and no way in heck was he going back to bed. But, when one mixed Lawton and espresso, the product was a relentless sense of boredom. Lawton rapped his finger on the counter, trying to dispel the caffeine affects through one digit. Jason wasn't talking. Lawton was bored. He really hadn't thought the question through. It just popped out of his mouth. "You ever played monopoly?"

"Course I've played monopoly... why?"

Lawton, recovering from his own shock at asking the question, was already halfway to the living room. Jason watched him warily. What on earth was this guy up to? Trying to bore him to death with a monotonous board game? It was almost smart, if not a little obvious. The Marksman returned with a box clutched in his hand. It was a strange edition. Jason peered at the title. _Monopoly Justice League Edition._

"Seriously?" Jason scoffed. "Ya want me to play a board game? At like... two in the morning?"

"You got a better idea?"

"I-." Jason was positively convinced that he was dreaming... or dead. This was beyond absurd.

"Look. I get it. You like to brood." Lawson cleared his throat and deepened his voice. " _I'm too good for these Criminal scumbags who kill people for a living -like me-_. But come on, man! You're stuck here. The sooner you accept it, the better. Besides, you need to keep yourself awake somehow."

"First, I don't sound like that... and second, you can't get anyone else to play monopoly... can you?"

"Of course I can!" Floyd huffed. "My daughter... once every other month...." He winced. "Hey! I can't help it I'm just that good!"

"That's what I thought." Jason bit his lip. "Ya realize how crazy this is right? You should hate me. If we weren't in here, I'd kill ya. I don't need your pity, and I don' need your friendship."

"Oh trust me. I _don't_ _want_ to be your _friend_. And I'm not trying to be, either. I'm bored and you apparently want to embrace insomnia like an idiot. This just happens to be a... mutually beneficial arrangement. Besides, the way a man plays monopoly reveals a great deal about his fighting style."

Jason put a hand on his face in exasperation. "You're pushin' it, Lawton." He rose to his feet, intending to retreat to his room. A hand snagging his wrist stopped him.

"You're playin' monopoly. Sit down."

"Nah, need to get my beauty rest. Besides, I'd beat ya."

"Care to prove it? Or is that all Bravado?" Lawton raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Cause I think it's bravado."

Jason glared at him, admittedly lacking any heat behind the gaze. Every part of his logical mind was screaming at him to just retreat, not engage. But the crime alley kid who never backed down from a challenge was still there too. That relentless side had driven him to do so many unbelievable stunts. It had driven him to steal the tires off the batmobile, steal the robin suit, face countless foes, blow up the batman and target his 'sons,' take over crime in Gotham- and the list went on. It was such a monumental piece of him that he could easily justify one game of monopoly.

"Fine." The boy huffed. "But only cause I want to prove you wrong."

* * *

"Justice League edition?" Jason glared at the packaging as Lawton set up the board. "Did Amanda do that just to spite ya?"

Lawton chuckled lightly, picking up the lid and studying it with an amused expression. "We've been wondering that for some time now."

Jason rifled through the pieces, picking up the Batman figurine. It was surprising accurate. He wondered if the creators of the game had talked to one Lois lane, or perhaps Clark Kent.

"Hey, _I_ wanted to be Batman! I'm always Batman."

Jason leveled Lawton with a glare, walked over to the sink and dropped the plastic batman down the running garbage disposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So chapter 2! The next few chapters will be covering essential early on moments between Jason and the squad. Some moments will be humorous, and others Angsty. It'll vary from chapter to chapter. As always, reviews are hightly appreciated. Thanks to everyone who left me ideas in the last chapter. I can't wait to incorporate them!


	3. Meeting the Team (Part 3)

"Aww come on, Santana! It'd be fun!"

"No."

Jason wrinkled his nose, peaking one eye open. He was on the couch, his right shoulder against the back. Santana was standing to his left, arms outstretched to stop George and Harley Quinn. Stop them from doing what? Well the Sharpie markers in their hands were a pretty solid indication. He bolted up, glaring daggers at the two rapscallions. How on earth had he gotten on the couch? The last thing he remembered was playing monopoly with Floyd, and slowly yet methodically driving him into bankruptcy. He never remembered actually winning.

"Aw man. He's awake now. We missed our chance."

Santana glowered at them. Neither dared to actually try and bypass him. Waller had sensors on him that detected when his body temperature rose above 107 degrees Fahrenheit and subdued him accordingly. That didn't mean he couldn't cause damage in the small amount of time it took the chips to fry him. On top of that, they didn't really feel inclined to drive him to such measures. That would get _all_ of their privileges revoked; and while they loved to drive each other crazy, they had no inclination to go back to their single jail cells.

"No-" Santana replied deadpan." -by all means go for it. Something tells me Hood here is the type to risk a painful shock for revenge."

The thought got George moving. Harley, disappointed and pouting, followed close behind. A Hardy laugh came from the bean bags to Jason's right. Killer croc sat with a metal wire puzzle, clawed fingers tentatively tugging at the wire to dislodge them. "Come on man!" Santana huffed. "You were just gonna let me deal with 'em on my own?"

"No." Croc replied casually. "If they actually tried it, I would have intervened."

"Why did either of ya stop 'em to begin with?" Jason asked slowly, eyes narrowed.

"Did you not want us to?"

At Croc's query, Jason put two hands in the air. "Oh no. I'm glad ya did. S'just... why?"

"You aren't the only one they try to pull that on." Santana shrugged. "I usually listen for 'em in the dead of night."

Croc plucked his own tail up from its resting spot on the floor. On the very end of his scaly tail, someone had doodled in a stick figure with overly dramatized Croc brand shoes. Harley's initials were scribbled underneath.

"It doesn't wash off." The reptilian man mumbled wistfully.

"Crocs? Seriously?" Hood bent down to inspect it. "Sheesh. That's lame. That's really really lame. I hear your sanity leaks out through the holes in them things." He said, referring to the shoes. Bizarro had worn a pair like that not too long ago; but Jason had never once tried them himself.

"So that's why Harley's crazy."

Hood snickered at that, rubbing his finger on the doodle before glancing at Croc. "Ask Waller for some rubbin' alcohol." He suggested. "S'what I used when, Arsenal wrote on my helmet a while back."

Croc raised a scaly eyebrow. "Thankyou." He grumbled with a nod. There was a pause. "Have you heard from him? He hasn't called me as of late."

Jason sobered, grief flashing through his green eyes as he slipped back a bit and curled his fists at his sides. It was enough for croc, but Jason still elaborated. "He's gone." Jason finally muttered. "He was goin' to rehab, and somethin' happened. And he an' a whole buncha others are dead."

Croc lowered his head, rising from the bean bag with heavy feet. He knew of the Red Hood, best of all through Roy. The red clad archer had told him much about the teen with the Red Hood, how this kid standing before him had gone through such pain and agony and risen above it... more or less. Waylon knew that Roy and Hood were close, best friends even. And the grief on the young mans face was evident enough of that simple fact. It made the hood look young, younger than he must be. But then again, Roy had called the Hood an honorary _little_ brother, meaning Jason couldn't have been far out of his teens, if he had even hit twenty at all.

A clawed hand came to rest on Jason's shoulder. "My condolences. I came to be rather fond of him myself." Croc admitted. "But my bond... I doubt was as deep as yours."

Jason took a breath, nodding slightly. "He was my best friend, a brother when my own abandoned me. I- I miss him; but... It's the cost of puttin' on a mask. We know the risks, an' we take 'em."

"That is surprisingly mature." Croc stated, retracting his hand. Jason saw a glimmer of understanding, and anguish in the green eyes of one of the most sympathetic people in the suicide squad.

"Yeah, well... when you've been dead... It gives ya perspective." Jason admitted sadly. He took a shaky breath, recomposing himself. "I'm sorry no one ever told ya."

"Don't be concerned about it. I'm not well connected."

"Point." Hood acquiesced, hand going to his stomach when it rumbled. He was starving.

"Perhaps we should get some food." Croc suggested, scaly hand coming to rest on Jason's back to goad him towards the kitchen. "I hear from both Floyd and Arsenal that you're quite the cook."

Jason hunched in embarrassment, hand running through the back of his hair, a nervous tic. Santana, respectfully quiet until this point, tagged alongside them.

* * *

As soon as Jason stepped foot on the fake linoleum kitchen floor, Floyd put a hand in the air. "I won."

"No ya didn't." Hood shot back, bee lining straight for the fridge. "Not unless ya somehow managed to come back from bankruptcy after I passed out from lack a' sleep." He found eggs in a tin, pulling the tin out and thumping it against the counter top. "But that'd mean you were playin' the game with yerself."

Floyd's index finger wavered, finally falling back to the table as he scooped up his coffee and mumbled incoherent into the tin mug.

Hood cracked a few eggs into a plastic mixing bowl bowl, then fished some tomatoes from the fridge. Using a plastic disposable knife made it tricky, but he managed to dice the tomato into tiny chunks. Soon he had scrambled eggs, with Tomato cooked in and pepper sprinkled on top. He served himself, Croc, and Santana before leaving the left overs on the stove. Silently, he sat down, watching the pure delight and bliss on Santana's face as he bit into the first home cooked meal he'd had in ages. Croc huffed out a sound as he nodded. "It's very good. Arsenal did not give you enough credit."

"Thanks." Hood smirked, poking at his own food and ignoring Floyd as the sharp shooter slipped over to the polished stove and dished himself up a plate. They all sat perched around the island, eating silently. 

It was how Jason preferred it. He hadn't lived in close quarters like this for ages, but the quiet was something to relish. While it lasted. He heard Harley in the hallway, shattering his illusion of peace.

"I smell somethin' good. I'm gonna go check it out!"

Jason silently stood up, a dangerous look in his eye that made Santana nervous. Floyd scraped the last eggs off his plate, and Croc frowned as best he could with his razor sharp teeth. Whatever Hood had in mind was absolutely malicious; but... as they would soon discover, absolutely petty too. Jason grabbed his pan of eggs off the stove, splitting the little that remained between Santana, Floyd, himself, and Croc. Then he dropped the pan in the sink.

Yes, he was already full; but he wasn't about to let his killers girl friend touch _his_ food. Any who knew the Red Hood knew he didn't always stoop to petty levels. But he sure wasn't above it. He sat down, heart thrumming in satisfaction as the blond headed fiend popped into the kitchen, eyes lighting up at the sight of their plates.

"Sorry." Jason said with a downright cold smile. "I didn' make quite enough. Maybe tomorrow... probably not. I think I saw some of them bland protein bars in the fridge though."

* * *

**TBC**

**Next chapter: The first of many talks between Harley and the Hood.**

**ANOTHER NOTE: I'd like to point out that this is NOT part of my current Batfamily series. - > Batfamily: Mending Broken Hearts And Broken Minds. <\- A take on what would happen if the Batfamily started acknowledging their mistakes and acting like a family. **

**I bring that up, because this is not in that world. In that world, Dick would not have thrown Jason in Belle Reve. But Since I have a lot of Jason-Centric Fics, I'm having to differentiate to keep the series separate from the solo stories.**

**In short: This is a world all on its own.**

**In that series, something like this would never happen. This series is also set after RHATO 27, but does not goes as far as Bizzaro and Artemis's return.**

**ANOTHER ANOTHER NOTE: Thanks to everyone who's left comments and kudos so far. I absolutely love hearing what you all think about my story.**


	4. Jason And Harley: (The Victims)

{DAY 4}

After a hearty and filling breakfast, Jason finally took a shower. Sure, he had an ear out for the door at all times, barely running the water long enough to douse him in the chilled water before lathering up with soap and rinsing. Grabbing a clean towel from the rack, he briefly wiped the excess water away and slipped into a clean jumpsuit provided on the same metal shelf.

He'd just slipped back into his own room, after his ten minute shower, slumping back into his usual corner with the book of Shakespearean Plays Santana had provided on day one of Jason's hellish incarceration. He got lost in Macbeth, the story of a powerful man and his wife who were drawn in by the promise of lust and power, at one simple cost, killing their king. The words were lost on some, but Jason had spent a lot of time studying the foot notes and learning the lingo. It had paid off. This book didn't have footnotes, but Jason knew what Shakespeare was saying despite it.

He'd gotten lost in the words and scenery, very much tuning out the chatter down the hall like he would at home. _Home._ He blinked, fingers tightening over the pages. It had gone well. For nearly a year he hadn't slipped. And then he supposedly had, and things had gone to heck. He'd actually been hanging around Tim more, and Damian, mending things with Bruce and Dick even, but now he most certainly wouldn't be doing that. Ever, probably. He missed Alfred's cooking, missed nerd bantering with Tim, and Dick's hugs -as much as he had often grumbled about them-

_No._

He shook his head, blinking back tears of frustration. _Dick_ had tossed him in there, over a misunderstanding no less. He hadn't killed since Waller's mission. He _hadn't._ He was framed, but they'd thought the worse, and now? Now he was going to be as Deathstroke so bluntly put 'a slave to the government' until he died or somehow got away, sold out by his own brother into a life of servitude.

Everyone thought he was a killer. And he hadn't been. Not for a very long time. Yesterday had been his first time killing in over a year. It wasn't fair. Dick Grayson had essentially forced him back into this life, after he'd fought so hard -at their insistence- to escape.

Jason shoved away the heartache and smirked devilishly. They'd thrown him in jail for a crime he didn't commit, to 'supposedly' stop him from killing. And now under Waller's command, he was a killer once more. 

"Good going, Dick." Jason sneered coldly. "Brilliant plan backfired didn't it?"

"Do ya always make it a habit to talk to yourself?"

Jason jumped at the heavily accented sneer, gearing up to toss the book at whoever was standing there. Well he knew _who._ Harley had arms folded, grinning like a cheshire cat with a predatory glint in her eyes to match.

"Well, it ain't like I have much better company." Jason replied coldly, settling his book back in his lap, but gearing up to use it as a weapon.

" 'Ain't ain't a word."

"I'm fully capable of speaking like Gotham's high society." Jason replied, scrubbing the accent from his voice and dropping the crime Alley drawl. "But I choose not to." He let it slip heavily back in. "Sue me. Oh wait. Ya can't."

Harley flared her nostrils.

"Whadd'ya want Harley? If you're here to pick my brain, ya can just forget it. Ya couldn't do any more damage than your precious mister Jay did."

"Oh please." Harley laughed, a cold chuckle utterly devoid of humor. "We all know it wasn't mistah Jay that did the most damage." Jason grit his teeth. "It was that so called family of yers."

Jason wanted to tell her to shut up. He knew what she was doing, getting a foot in the door, an opening so she could use her training as a psychiatrist to pick him apart. He wasn't going to let her get that far. Because even _he_ knew the damage she could cause to a psyche already as unstable as his was.

"I wouldn't be at odds with my 'family' if your manipulative boyfriend didn't kill me."

"No, no, no. You wouldn't be at odds with your family if you just stayed dead." Harley jabbed.

"Point." Jason acquiesced, not giving her a rise. He wouldn't get angry. He wouldn't get angry.

"And he ain't manipulative." Harley tacked on. "He's just... over protective."

 **"Ha!"** Jason barked, bursting into cold laughter. "You're an idiot." He breathed, noting the startled look on her face. It was perfect. "You've devoted every second of your life to him! He played you like a puppet to get out Arkham. Then, he pushed ya into a vat of chemicals just so ya'd look like him! He took ya from your friends, family, stripped ya of sanity, and then made you play dress up in a skin tight suit so you could take the fall for _his_ crimes! Tell me Harley-" He sneered icily. "-why you were in Arkham more times than he was!"

"I took the falls willin'ly!" She huffed, fingers digging into her bicep, shoulders tense.

"How many times did he hit you! Or tell ya what you _had_ to do?" Jason pressed. "How many times has he punished ya for having a brain and usin' it?"

Harley pressed her lips together. Jason wasn't sure why'd she come. Her attempts to as he surmised 'pick his brain' had been half-hearted at best. He knew what she was capable of. Maybe in hindsight, she'd come to make amends; but Jason hadn't taken the time to find out. 

"You don't know nothin'!" Harley snapped, voice rising an octave as her icy blue eyes seared his own with their fury. "Mistah Jay loves me!"

And Jason realized here and now, that this may be a homicidal maniac. But despite her own crimes -which were many- she was a victim. Jason realized that in a strange way, he was looking at someone who'd gone through the same fiery trials as he had, coming out scathed in a more dangerous way. They'd both been traumatized, played, and in the end turned into things they never could have imagined. Killers, criminals, crazies.

He shuddered at the similarities.

The fire in Jason burned out, not entirely, but marginally. He forced his tone to drop, knowing they probably had an audience nonetheless, but not much caring. "Yeah, sure he does." Jason shrugged. Harley, taken back by the admission frowned at him. "In the same way he 'loves' me." Jason finished, watching with inward glee as her eyes widened in horror.

"Don't ya see, Quinn? We're oddities to 'im. You and I, we were- are- the Joker's entertainment. We were both played, in some way or another in a way that let the Joker cause us harm. He captured me -using my own mother-, tortured me, and killed me. Then I came back, and he gets to see what the result of _his_ carnage is! He gets to watch me become what the bat wasn't, a _killer_ , watch me be destroyed again, this time not by him, but by my family."

Harley with skin far paler than it was before, bit her lip and studied her nails. Anything so she didn't have to meet his gaze. He continued on his warpath, emboldened. "And you. He found ways to put _your_ mind to use against you. Convinced ya that he was some nice guy. He played your bleedin' heart like a harp, turned you into a cold faced killer after he dumped ya into a vat that bleached your skin and caused ya bodily harm. Ya became the very thing ya were tryin' to help. A crazy. He's hurt ya, pushed ya down for his own gain, beat ya, used ya as a scapegoat. That's not love Quinn. That's possession. I was lucky. I got out. You never did. You're just livin' in a gilded cage, waitin' for the guy who hurts ya to come pull you out... So the abuse can start all over again."

Harley folded her arms and glared at him. "You're wrong." She breathed, but there was uncertainty in her tone, just a slight tremor that convinced Jason she was in some way impacted by his arguments.

"I'm sick, Quinn, up 'ere." Jason said quietly, tapping his temple. "I don't need a shrink to tell me that. I kill people, criminals, because I snapped and deviated from the ideals of my mentor. I wake up screamin' at night because-a what your boss did to me. I get flashbacks every time I'm in a burning building. There ain't a night that goes by that I don't deal with the insanity that comes from bein' raised from the dead with a pit of green water." He closed his eyes, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"And I'm not even a psychiatrist." His tone turned pointed. "But _you_ are. Take all them skills and analyze your own behavior. From before ya met the joker, and after. The woman you were and the one ya are now. Look at the Joker, and figure out if he's _ever_ shown you love, put your own interests before his own." He looked her dead in the eye, and the whithered expression told him all he needed to know. "Then we'll talk." 

He opened his book again, purposely burying his face behind it. At his next glance, she'd vacated his doorway.

* * *

**TBC**


	5. Bombshells

**{Trigger Warning: Mention of depression and suicide}**

"John Peters."

The pale skinned, black haired receptionist lazily popped a gum bubble, overly manicured nails inputting the name into Belle Reve's security system. Dick knew the 'lobby' was a lie, a pretense. Sitting before him was likely a highly trained security agent with assassin level training and a fake air of professional sloppiness just to fulfill the role she'd been assigned here. There were four guards, armed to the teeth with knives and guns, clad in gleaming black armor, and defending this room alone.

The entire place made Dick uneasy.

Perhaps it was the denizens who had reason to loathe both Detective Dick Grayson and Nightwing. Perhaps it was the fact that he'd put his own little brother in here. It was most probable that the biggest reason was the freaky 'warden' that oversaw the facility. He knew Amanda Waller was no ordinary warden. He knew she was a dangerous element, one who was no stranger to black mail, less than legal methods of investigation, and bending the rules.

Waller, however, had some truce with Bruce. One which, so far, Dick had been roped into alongside _most_ of his family. That didn't mean Waller couldn't cause trouble if he stumbled right into her cross hairs.

But his reason for being there overrode all of his preservation instincts. He hadn't seen Jason in months, and Jason probably didn't know that the Joker was dead. Being here was painful. He had been the one to toss Jason in here. And he did feel bad. Of course, after so long of conforming to Bruce's no killing rule, Jason had gone back on it. He'd killed Harley Quin, a woman, who by all means had potential to get better.

Dick couldn't fathom why Jason would snap the way he did, kill her in cold blood _after_ she'd surrendered. But it was the last straw. And later, when confronted, Jason had denied it all. Dick had watched the Red Helmet from the rooftop, not even noticing the sniper rifle until it was far too late to stop it. But the trajectory lined up. The bullet matched his weapons. They'd had no choice.

And what stung the worst was that Jason had actually looked betrayed when they didn't believe him.

Dick shook the thoughts from his mind as the receptionist smiled politely, readjusting her glasses. "I'm sorry. John Peters is unavailable for visitation."

"Why?"

"That's classified, only the warden is at liberty to say."

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Dick propped both hands on the edge of the steel counter top. "Then get me in to see her." The detective demanded, hoping his commanding voice could get the desired results.

The woman eyed him up and down, steely resolve lurking in her blue eyes. Pointedly, she jammed a finger against her ear piece. "Ms. Waller, a Detective Grayson here to see you. Bludhaven PD. He's wanting to speak to a... John Peters." The woman furrowed her brow, tilting her head slightly to the side as she listened to the response in her ear. She snapped her fingers twice above her head.

"Waller's office."

The two guards standing next to the double doors leading deeper into the facility hefted their rifles and nodded at Dick to follow them. The Detective shrugged off his brown trenchcoat, draping it over one of the seven plastic chairs -the only furnishing beside the desk- and allowed the guards to pat him down for weapons. He had none. He didn't feel like getting detained over a pocket knife or a bird themed shuriken.

After their initial pat down and scans, he was led deeper into the facility.

* * *

Amanda Waller dismissed the two guards with a sharp wave of her hand, leaving only her and Dick in her surprisingly warm office. Rather than cold whites and sickly grays, Amanda's office was painted warm red, with a window to the outside -albeit with barbed vertical bars to prevent escape should any be lucky enough to enter her office-. Her desk was made of polished oak, and bookshelves lined the walls. Amanda's desk had a small stack of files, but she was more focused on him. Hands folded on the desk, she shot him a tight cold smile.

"Mr. Grayson." She said in way of greeting.

"Amanda...." He paused, mulling over his next words. "I assume you know why I'm here."

"I do indeed." She agreed, chocolate brown eyes glinting dangerously. she unclasped her fingers and waved towards one of the chairs before the desk, leaning so she could rest on her elbows. "John Peters. Or... Jason Todd." Dick felt uneasy that she knew his name. But he expected no less from one of the most informed spies in the world. "You want to see him, likely to inform him of the Joker's recent demise. You hope it will give him peace of mind, to know that his killer is dead... Give him something to dwell on while he rots away in a cell."

Dick pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes at her. He'd ignored the rotting remark, though a broken piece of him knew it was true. Instead, he folded his arms. "I'd like to see him. He's my _brother._ "

"Funny... _He_ doesn't seem to think so." Waller smiled cruelly. "I guess he got tired of being alone, decided to talk to the walls instead. I certainly find it interesting just what a boy who's lost everything will say when he's at his lowest."

She took inward glee at the way Dick's face paled slightly.

"Waller, if you've hurt him-"

"Is that a _threat_ , Mr. Grayson?" She asked pointedly, leaning forward, voice dropping. "In _my_ domain? I'd let the words on your tongue die there. You don't want to be anywhere even remotely _near_ my bad list. Because whatever dirt you think the batman has on me? I have ten times that on him. On all of you. I will send you and everyone you care about crashing down, regardless of whatever petty threats Bruce Wayne can toss at me. Do you understand me? It won't just be your family, but I'll see to it that the runoffs are shut down, what remains of Haley's Circus. It would be a shame if Amy Rohrbach lost her job for knowing a vigilante worked on her force. It would be a shame for that vigilante to be exposed himself in the process." 

Dick glared coldly. But he wasn't deterred. He folded his arms. "Go ahead. I'm sure the press would love to know about your Taskforce." Dick replied. "I'm sure they'd _love_ to know about Cadmus's less than legal human experimentation _and_ your ties to them."

A hint of a cold smile tugged at Waller's lips. "Your threat is only half of what mine is. But since there's no need for hostility, I do believe ousting each other would be rather pointless." 

"No _need_? I wouldn't say that. "

"I didn't hurt your brother." Waller stated finally, glancing at him firmly. "My men didn't hurt your brother. The only one who hurt your brother, was _you._ "

"I'm _not_ getting into the ethics of arresting my little brother for murder. Not with you. It had to be done." Dick growled; because... it was true. As much as he hated to admit it, arresting Jason was the only option any of them had left. They weren't about to lock him up in the batcave with no trial, which, was the only other option at this point.

"Oh I agree." Waller replied. "It had to be done, but the end results were... unfortunate."

"Why?" Dick demanded, an explainable worry in his gut. What the heck had happened to Jason? His fingers dug into the arm rests of his chairs. He had to know. He needed to.

"Because Jason Peter Todd committed suicide in his cell three weeks ago."

* * *

Dick's heart must have stopped. He stared with blurry eyes at Amanda Waller, breaths coming out quick. _Not again. Not_ _again!_ He shook his head.

"No." He whispered, rising up sharply, towering over the woman who had the power to utterly destroy him with a few simple words. "You're _lying."_ He growled. Waller looked him dead in the eye.

"Why would I lie?" She asked suavely. "Your brother lost everything when he died. Was shunned when he came back. After he'd been accepted, you all took it away over a stray shot that killed Harleen Quinzel, a mentally unstable psychopath. He's been locked in solitary confinement for two months with minimal contact to anyone and nothing to do but dwell about all the pain he's been through." Waller leaned back. "We didn't even know he'd been considering ending things until a morning guard found out he'd clogged the sink with his jumper and drowned himself."

Dick, for his part looked sick. Waller reached down and handed him a bucket over her desk.

"If you want, I can get you proof. But I don't know why'd you torture yourself with the details. He's obviously only been a nuisance to your family since his return. The problem's been solved,"

"Why didn't you stop him?" Dick croaked, eyes shining with grief.

"The better question, Mr. Grayson... is why _should_ I have stopped him?"

* * *

Dick numbly ripped the driver's door open, dropping into his seat and staring brokenly with tear eyes at the steering wheel. He'd demanded evidence. She'd shown it. The video had been grainy, but clearly showed security body-cam feed of Jason being pulled from the sink. They'd tried to do chest compressions, and while they'd pumped the water from his lungs, they'd been unable to get him breathing again.

He had a copy, a CD, which he flung with disgust and devastation into the driver's seat.

Shaking, he grit his teeth in despair, slamming his already abused knuckles into the steering wheel, a sob tearing from his throat as the tears spilled over.

* * *

Amanda watched Dick from her window, clear view as he pounded his steering wheel a few times with his fist, to let the adrenaline out. Then as he hung his head, shoulders shaking with broken sobs. Flag stood leaning in the doorway, lips pressed together.

"Was it really wise telling a bat that Jason Todd committed suicide in your prison on _your_ watch? Epecially when... ya know... he _didn't?_ "

"It was the only solution. Grayson's impulsive. Without something to keep him away, I half expect he'd break in here to see Todd, only to realize he was gone. And we couldn't have that loop hole. I suspect they'll wise up sooner or later, but right now, I don't need them coming after my task force program."

"I didn't realize you had Hood framed. Why though? He was actually getting his life together."

Waller huffed quietly, stepping away from the window and facing one of the main Taskforce X overseers. Her brown eyes bored into his thoughtfully. "He's a danger to society. He's skilled, and has inside knowledge into some of the most dangerous people on the planet. And the Bats weren't tapping into it."

"It's still kind of messed up to wreck a nineteen year old's life."

"I don't have time to be morally upright." Waller replied. "Let's just say, I'm going to be starting a war... With some very bad people. And Jason's head knowledge is the key to winning... _My_ key to winning."


	6. Fallout

**(WARNING: MENTION OF SUICIDE)**

" _Jason's dead."_

Silence fell over the Wayne Manor dining room as the words escaped Dick's mouth. He looked haggard, pale, eyes glazed with grief.

"How?" Bruce rasped, looking stricken, older. Jason's betrayal had hurt him worst of all. The fallout had been devastating, tensions high in the Wayne household. His face had paled a few shades. "How'd.... how'd he-"

"Suicide." Dick whispered. Tim was trying to keep it together, ignore the throbbing emptiness in his chest. He zoned out for a moment, only being drawn back when Damian lunged from his chair.

"Ridiculous!" The eleven year old hissed. "Todd was not weak enough to resort to such measures!"

"Amanda said he was going crazy." Dick was trying to wipe away a stray tear. "Said he was in solitary for two months." Another tear replaced it.

Damian was glaring coldly at the table, cold blue eyes aflame with absolute fury. He wasn't listening anymore, ears ringing with absolute disgust. He'd suffered loss before. For a while, he'd believed that his father was dead, though Bruce had of course returned. He'd felt his mother's betrayal, and the sting of her demise. Damian had felt pieces of him shattered, some glued back, others sitting lifeless in the bottom of his heart. Jason had joined those, and he wasn't sure if he could handle the weight.

"Shhshe told me that... That he clogged his sink with water and drowned himself... three weeks ago." Dick added quietly, staring at the table without really seeing the wood, but rather the video Amanda had shown him, replaying like a broken record in his mind. Tim shook his head.

"She's lying! Did you ask for a body? For proof?"

"Tim." Bruce cut in gently. "Belle Reve burns the bodies of their deceased prisoners. Cremates them. It's protocol. There wasn't a body for Dick to bring home."

"And..." Dick hesitated, sliding the CD across the table, not much caring if the smooth reflective side scratched on the polished wood. He was beyond feeling anything but sorrow, guilt, regret. And a deep, bone eating numbness that ate away from the inside out. "Video feed evidence."

Bruce scooped the disk up, face setting into a hardened scowl as he shuffled out of the room without so much as a second glance. It was his way of grieving, to shut down and bury himself in solitude while he eats through weeks worth of work in a single night. Damian slammed his fist into the table, spinning around and storming out as the door slammed in his wake. One by one, they left, leaving Dick alone with his thoughts, his anger, his frustration.

Before Tim left, he looked right at Dick. "Jason should _never_ have been left _alone. Never_ been put in there to _begin with."_

* * *

"Drake."

Tim ignored the summons for his attention.

"Drake."

Brow wrinkled, Tim stared pointedly at his computer.

"Drake, answer me."

The lid to Tim's computer slammed down with such force that Damian jumped, eyes widening a fraction of an inch as Tim's steely eyes glared into his.

 _"What?"_ He snarled, looking much like a caged animal with a passionate ire glistening in his wet teary eyes. The gleam of tear tracks were still trailling down his cheeks. "What could I have possibly done to _offend_ you _this_ time?"

Damian flinched back.

"Nothing. I..." He straightened his shoulders, eyes narrowing. "I do not believe Todd ended his own life." And Tim could see that. Damian's league training instilled the belief that ending one's own life was an easy to end. But a dishonorable and selfish one. "It is a coward's way out, and Todd was no such thing."

Tim sighed, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger. He knew Damian was right, deep down. But he'd watched the video by tapping into the batcomputer's screen as Bruce watched the video. And rewatched it. And rewatched it again. Things weren't adding up. Of course, that could be the skeptical side of Tim's mind, the inability to take anything at face value. Especially from Amanda Waller of all people.

"There are inconsistencies. Jason's been in jail two months. Solitary to be exact. According to Dick, Amanda said that being alone for all that time had put Jason over the edge... _but._ Then she said he died three weeks ago, making his time in solitary a whopping one month and and a week. That's the shakiest evidence though, could be a slip on her dates." Damian listened carefully, eyes boring into the couch next to Tim rather than boy himself. Tim had clearly convinced himself that Jason's demise wasn't all it appeared to be. But he allowed the third robin to continue. "Jason's traumatized by his resurrection. He hates bath tubs because it reminds him of being submerged in the pit, where he essentially choked on water after mentally waking up from one of the worst beatings in his life. He hates having his face covered by liquid -has borderline panic attacks-, hates swimming. But _drowns_ himself to commit suicide? Yeah, no." Tim shook his head. "There would be other ways."

"Then you believe he was murdered?" Damian pressed. Tim sobered, eyes dropping to his closed computer lid.

"Maybe." The third robin muttered, once again dragging a hand down his cheeks as if to brush the exhaustion away, to no avail of course. "But... A piece of me doubts it. This is Waller we're talking about. The last person to break out of Belle Reve was Harley Quin, and that was well over a year ago. That place is one of the most secure facilities in the state. Waller runs it like a tight ship, no loose ends, no one she doesn't trust. I doubt someone could make it in Jason's cell and shove his head in the sink before she noticed. Not a chance. And..." Tim lowered his voice. "As much as I hate to say it, Jason knows a lot of things about a lot of people. And I think Amanda knows it. That gives Amanda a reason to keep him around... To _want_ to keep him around. At least long enough for her to get what she wants."

"You think he's still alive."

"I... I'm not going to get my _hopes_ up very much." Tim admitted reluctantly. "But I am keeping it an option. I won't mourn until I have definite proof, something _Dick_ should have gotten."

"We should bring this evidence to Father, to Grayson."

" _Absolutely **not.** " _Tim snapped. "They're the ones who tossed him in there. They wouldn't listen to reason; and now he's dead or who knows where. They don't get to help us look."

"He killed Quin." Damian remarked. It wasn't as if he minded the fact that Harley was dead. Despite not following the corrupt morals of the league, remnants of his training still remained. While he didn't kill himself, he had no qualms about others killing the criminal elements in Gotham's pitiful underbelly. Harley deserved it.

But Tim had never believed that Jason would abandon everything he'd worked so hard to achieve. It was difficult for even Damian to fathom why Jason had shot her. Had forsaken his family after working so hard to reintegrate.

"No, he didn't." Tim replied.

"No." Both Tim and Damian jumped. Standing in the doorway was Cassandra Cain, backed by Stephanie. It was Cain who'd spoken. Slowly, she padded across the room, and Stephanie plopped down on the corner of the plush rug.

"How long have you been listening?" Damian demanded, no heat in his voice.

Steph shrugged. "A few minutes. Enough to know you're on to something. And I want in. Look, Cass is right. She was out of the country when Jay got arrested, but she has a little piece of info which pretty much _everyone_ neglected. We tried to tell Bruce... but... he wasn't convinced it was enough. And it was too late."

"Enlighten us, Cain."

" _Please."_ Tim tacked on.

Cass frowned, lips tugging into a slight frown. "He... He told me... Told me that he saw Harley... like himself. Both v-victams-ims of the Joker. I asked if he wants to kill her. He said no. Because she was... like him. He couldn't. She's like... him. Can be helped... made sane.... or at least... given hope?"

"Then someone dressed as him must have killed her." Tim surmised. "Because never has Jason lied. Not about killing, or who he's killed."

A moment of silence engulfed the group as they mulled over all the info gathered, as if planning a mission. Which, they were. It was Tim who tried to verbalize his thoughts first.

"So..."

"So... are we launching operation find Jason -who's probably not dead- without Dick and Bruce finding out?" Steph suggested with a sly smirk. Tim smiled; while a spark of determination lit up Damian's eyes.Cass grinned like a toddler on Christmas.

"Yeah... In not so many words. And I think I know _right_ where to start." Tim opened his laptop lid. "Let's look into Waller's task force... _shall we?"_

* * *

**TBC - And that's the last we'll see of the batfam for a while. Next chapter is back to Jason and the Squad.**

**Thanks for all the reviews! It was awesome to see so many on that last chapter. Absolutely amazing**


	7. Watches

{DAY 4}

Jason stood rifling through the books. Harley was avoiding him like the gosh darn plague, which wasn't entirely surprising. He'd completely shattered her arguments, toppled her defenses with few well aimed verbal barbs. And now she was pouting, not that Jason cared. When he emerged from his room, he was regarded with some pretty astonished stares; but no one said a word.

Even Harkness seemed to recognize that what went down between the two traumatized Joker victims wasn't something to be made light of. So he didn't even bring it up when Jason shuffled through the kitchen with an armload of books. He frowned at the bookshelf in the living room. The books were out of order, shoved back on the shelf willy nilly with no regard to finding a title later. With a sigh, he set his armload on the floor and added the dusty ones that hadn't been touched in a while. There were fifteen books in total, some small, others volumes and collections. Jason found a dictionary on there too. It didn't take him long to dust the leather covers off with his jumper and Alphabetize them by the titles.

"Man-" Harkness huffed from the kitchen. "I wish Waller would let us out on missions more often. I'm gettin' stir crazy."

"She just let us out yesterday!" Lawton retorted, a the shrill clank of a pot clanging in the kitchen. "I think you're forgettin' that this is _jail._ Read my lips, man, _jail."_

"Yeah-" Jason remarked, butting into the conversation as he strolled back into the kitchen with a fresh arm load of books, his alphabetization done. "If ya wanted a revolvin' door, ya shoulda tried Arkham. The food's terrible though, and don' even get me started on electro-shock therapy."

"Yeesh." Harkness wrinkled his nose. "sounds awful."

"It is. Some days they shock ya so long, you can't even remember your own name. 'Course, it wasn't really the docs that did it. Just the guards people includin' myself ticked off. Though to be fair, Gordon put an end to _that._ Not _b'fore_ I spent my time there though."

"That's sick." Harkness muttered. Floyd just looked angry, turning back to his cooking to hide. He stirred the slushy brown liquid vigorously enough to slosh some of the broth out of the pot. Cursing, he grabbed a paper towel and wiped away the mess.

"That's Arkham." Jason replied, as if the fact that he'd been tortured right under the bat's nose was no big deal at all. Lawton suspected Jason had just numbed himself to whatever horrors he faced there. And suddenly the man had an unexplainable urge to give the Batman a piece of his mind. Who tossed their own son in Arkham? He shook the thought away, spooning some of the broth out and tasting it. He was about to put the spoon back in the pot, but Jason's hand caught the handle. "Don't do that. It's unsanitary." He pulled the spoon out of Lawton's hand.

"Seriously?" Lawton griped. "You honestly think I'm giving _you_ any!"

Jason raised an eyebrow.

" _Fine_ , I'll get a new spoon. Harkness, I need you to keep the time. You got a watch? "

"Always." Harkness pulled his jumpsuit's orange sleeve up, revealing a pristine beige and gold Chanel Monsieur Watch strapped to his wrist. Floyd whistled under his breath.

"Man, that's a nice one!" The sharp shooter muttered approvingly. "Where'd you get it?"

Harkness didn't answer right away, more in favor of breathing against the face of the watch, letting his breath fog up the glass before he wiped it away with his jumper sleeve. "I've had this one a while. Got it off a rich guy I was hired to kill in Gotham a couple of years ago." Jason stilled, now suddenly curious. Harkness had history in Gotham? Since when? He hadn't really been overly concerned about the great captain boomerang. Sure, the guy had caused more than his fair share of havoc in Central City. But Jason was pretty self-restricted to Gotham territory. He wasn't overly concerned about the rest of the world. That's what Superman was for after all. Harkness turned to Jason with a sudden gleam in his eye. "Eh, maybe you've heard of him, Hood!"

"Maybe." Jason acquiesced aloud. _Probably._ He added mentally. "What was his name?"

Harkness shrugged with no remorse.

" _Jack Drake_."

* * *

**TBC**

**Boom. Short chapter I know, but I'm tight on time today. I hope you all enjoyed! And thanks for reading :)**


	8. Unicorn Lost

{DAY 4}

Jason realized a second too late he was staring. The tension in the room had ratcheted up, and even Harkness seemed to realize that he'd probably slipped up.

"So... You knew him?" George tried sheepishly.

Jason jolted from his stupor shooting a tight cold smile at the boomerang tosser.

"Nah." The teenage sharp shooter replied. Floyd's spoon froze at the downright icy tone of his voice. "Nah... I never met the man myself. But you see... His son? Him I've met. His son, Tim Drake, the kid ya orphaned? Is one of the only people who ever saw any good in me. He was certainly the _first._ One might say I see 'im like a brother, a best friend at the _very_ least."

Harkness wasn't one to fright easily. But the Red Hood was a terror in the criminal underworld. Harkness had initially been wary... Until he realized that the gun toting criminal killer was just a traumatized teenager with clown issues. Lots and lots of clown issues.

George knew not to underestimate anyone though.

Still, emboldened by the victim speech Jason had given Harley, George smiled without a trace of fear evident on his face.

He could handle whatever this punk thought about throwing at him. With an unfaltering smirk that only served to enrage Jason, brown eyes locked on Toxic green.

* * *

Turns out George was wrong.

Jason didn't lift a finger to actually harm the man per se.

He wrought havoc on George's dignity though. George had a plus size jumpsuit. And much to his horror, he found all the orange prison suits his size stuffed in the toilet.

He couldn't fit into the size Jason, Santana, and Floyd wore without mangling the zipper. So the man was forced to walk around in his boxers.

To be fair, that was a punishment to all but Jason, who still spent a lot of time pent up in his room.

Anytime George would cook something, Jason would find ways to bungle it. At first, Harkness would make the unfortunate error of turning his back.

Jason's favorite thing to add was the _entire_ bottle of flaming hot sauce. But since that only got replaced every so often, Jason resorted to over salting it, or pouring a heap of pepper in the pot.

George eventually wised up, watching his food like a hawk. That didn't deter Jason though.

Harkness woke up with Sharpie scribbles all across his brow, cheeks, and chin. Across his brow was the most humiliating of all. 'Unicorn Kisser' it said. 

And then his unicorn plushie, the only thing Waller had ever agreed to give him, went missing.

{DAY 8}

"Where is it!" George bellowed, storming into the living room. He had this wild look in his eyes, like a deranged lunatic.

Jason glanced up from the book he was reading, arching a black eyebrow at the sweaty man.

"Where's what?" Floyd asked not even looking up from the spread of cards in his hand. He, Harley, and croc were in an intense battle of the mind, uno cards held close like the fate of the world depended on the winner.

"My Unicorn!" The man spluttered. "Someone took it!"

"Who wants your nasty old unicorn?" Santana asked dryly. 

"Nasty? _Nasty!_ It's not nasty! But I'll tell you what it _is_! It's _mine."_ The man snarled, cold brown eyes sweeping across the room. Until they landed on Jason. The boy looked entirely uninterested in the conversation, mind whisked away by the words of the book in his hands. "You!"

Jason looked up.

"Yes?"

"You took my unicorn didn't you, punk. Give it back!" His meaty hands snatched Jason's jumpsuit by the collar, yanking him up until their noses nearly brushed and smell of rancid breath made Jason gag.

"Dude." he wheezed. "You ever brush your teeth? It's basic hyg-"

George shook him. " **Shut up!"**

"Put him down." Croc rumbled. "I am sure, Hood did not steal your unicorn."

"No? He's been doing plenty to make me think he _has!_ Putting my jump suits in the toilet, ruining my food, shortsheeting the bed, stealing my watches! Putting spiders in my bed!"

Jason's dark grin had slowly been blooming.

"Loosing somethin' you care about. Sure stinks don' it? Feels like a piece of ya was ripped right outta your chest?"

"Wait, you _did_ take it!" 

"Why yes, Lawton. I most certainly did."

"Give it back!' George bellowed. Jason quirked one eyebrow, completely unphased. He'd stared death in the face? This mass of unicorn loving anger was absolutely nothing.

"Sure.' Jason smiled. "Jus' as soon as you give Tim Drake his dad back. Oh wait. Ya _can't."_

"Why I outta-" Jason slammed his fist into George's cheek, weaving his right arm over George's left and back over Captain Boomerang's right. Jason clasped his own right arm's wrist his left, trapping the criminals arms before jerking down to his right thigh. The grip was broken and Jason stepped away, straightening his collar.

He glanced up. The guards were watching with peaked interest.

"Apologize to Drake. And you can 'ave it back." Jason said, scooping his book up and leaving the stunned villains behind him.

* * *

**TBC**

**Don't worry. Jason's not done with Boomerang yet.**

**THIS, Folks is where I start taking requests. What do YOU want to see happen? What kind of scenarios and bonding?**

**I'm going to go right off the bat and say that I'll be avoiding romance of any kind. I briefly (okay, not briefly) toyed with the idea of a Harley and Jason shipping, but she's really too old for him. They'd be better off with an eventual brother and sister bond.**

**Unless you all think otherwise.**

**But anyhow. I want to focus on the bonding for a while. Whether it be missions, pranks, bonding scenarios, conversations. I'm open to ideas.**

**Then I'll work plot points in.**

**Thanks to everyone who's been following and commenting. It means the WORLD to me to see everyone loving this story.**


	9. The Package (2nd chapter of the day!)

(Two chapters in one day! Yay!)

{DAY 10}

It started as many mornings did, with a cobbled together breakfast, slight bantering, but mostly despondent stares into the bottoms of murky coffee mugs.

Waller's brief visits, which usually consisted of the woman standing on the railing above and chatting for a whole three minutes. It was usually in the evening though.

"Taskforce X." She said in way of greeting. Six tired eyes turned upwards and scoured the catwalk above the kitchen until they spotted Amanda Waller's irritating mug. "I've been informed that it's about time for me to take personal requests. One per person, within reason because we can refuse."

"You know what I want." Lawton remarked. Waller nodded. 

"A hamburger." Was Croc's request.

Santana, and Jason suspected this was typical of the man, requested nothing. He merely shrugged and walked away. Though his grand exit wasn't so grand from Waller's perspective. 

George asked for a movie, and the look on Waller's face told them he probably wouldn't get it.

Croc wanted a few new books. No specifications, meaning Waller would probably dump more classics on them. Which was fine by Jason.

Harley asked for a few new flavors of coffee, and then all eyes turned to Jason.

And he had no idea. A piece of him wanted to ask for cigarettes. But they probably wouldn't give him a lighter, and he wasn't sure he wanted to step back into _that_ destructive habit.

He could ask for some strong booze. But once again, Jason didn't want to go back to that particular brand of self destruction.

He could ask for a phone call. But he was eighty percent certain Waller would say no. 

Then an idea dawned on him.

"I'd like a Journal and a pen." He replied.

Waller mulled over the requests, saying nothing as she stepped away from the railing. This must have been normal, because the squad went back to acting as if she'd never been there at all.

* * *

{DAY 11}

Guards marched into the living room at about eleven the next day. Lawton was told to come with them, and a cardboard box was carried in. Flag personally handed out the contents.

"Coffee for Harley." He held out a big packet of donut flavored coffee.

"Aww for me? Ya shouldn't have!" She cooed, clutching the satchel and vanishing into the kitchen.

Flag pulled a stack of books out, six; and Jason was delighted to see Pride and Prejudice  amongst the leather bound covers.

Croc noticed the look, snorting slightly, a warm puff of air that bristled Jason's hair.

Flag pulled a large leather bound journal from the box. It was built to lock, a sturdy locket looped through the loops on the cover. He received a pen and a pencil, and the key was on a chain he could tie around his neck.

He took it gingerly, a faint smile flickering across his lips.

* * *

After Flag left, Jason scurried to his room. Santana was sitting on the top bunk, and Jason pressed his back to the corner on the bottom bunk.

He used the key to undo the lock and pried the cover open. He flipped through the pages, treating them like they were gold. Who knew when he'd get another journal. Every inch of space mattered.

He pried the pencil and pen from their plastic case, smiling slightly.

He knew _exactly_ what he planned to write on the pages.

* * *

_Dear Tim,_

_I know you'll never lay eyes on this. But that's okay. I'd never say this out loud to your face if it actually were you... to be perfectly honest... Cause heck, you know me. Not the sappy type._

_But addressing you feels somewhat more reasonable than saying 'dear diary' or 'dear journal.' Call it the crime alley boy in me. Diary's are for wimps. Maybe I am. But Heaven knows I'll never be able to get things off my chest otherwise._

_I wish this were you. Even if it is sappy. I miss you so much. I found out. What George Harkness did, to your dad. I'm making his life heck for you. I'd end him if I could. But then again, you might not appreciate that too much. Even if he did hurt your dad._

_Harley's alive, by the way. I was as surprised as you would be. Shocked even. Despite the fact that I didn't kill her to begin with. I just wish I could have my phone call. I'd hand the phone to Harley and let her talk Bruce's ear off._

_And then he'd realize he was wrong. He and Dick both._

_I would love to see their faces. Just because, once again, they've hurt me worse than dying ever could. And they'd finally realize it. Except, I don't know if I could do that to them. I've hurt Them before. I don't know if I want to rub their faces in it._

_You know what hurts the worst though. About all of this? I actually did kill again. On my second day in this suicide squad, Amanda sent us to California. I swore never to do it again, and I finally thought I was free... Free from that life. Bruce promised he'd help me. He and Dick would keep me from slipping. And I was happy that I wouldn't have any more lives weighing on my conscience... I thought I was finally free. But I wasn't. And now I never will be._

_Because Bruce through me back into this stupid life._

_Ironically the men who never killed, the men who told me I shouldn't, handed me right over to the woman who makes me kill. And I hate it._

_It hurts. And the nightmares are getting worse._

_I don't want to do this. I-_

-A tear hit Jason's paper, pen shaking with fury and anguish.-

 _We had our..._ _Orders. And the sick part was that I didn't mind. I didn't mind dropping Ra's men like flies._

_But I haven't slept right in days._

_And I know you'll never forgive me for going back. You believed in me, and I failed. I'm trapped, and I can't get back out. I'm sorry, Tim. I'm so sorry._

_Please forgive me._

_I_ _don't want this. I want to go home._

* * *

**TBC**

**Thanks so much for all the suggestions. I plan on replying ASAP. Bu** **t I gotta watch the fireworks. Happy 4th of July to all my American readers!**


	10. Hot, Humid, and the Hood Question.

{DAY 11}

Jason knew his journal had been tampered with when he found it two inches to the right of where he'd left it under his pillow. Opening it up revealed that whoever had tried to open it -probably George- hadn't gotten past the lock on the cover. He huffed, checking that the pencil was still hidden in the elbow railing where his mattress rested on the bunk bed frame. He kept the pen on his own person.

Call it paranoia.

When Jason made it into the kitchen, he was surprised to realize they were three people short. George was still snoring from his bedroom. The bathroom door was ajar, and a quick scan of the living room revealed that Santana, Floyd, and Croc were absent.

Harley watched him, lips pursed as he gave the place one last inspection. She hadn't said very much to him at all in the last couple of days, not that he could blame her. He'd shot down her every argument with the same lethal precision he used when wielding his weapons. Obviously Jason didn't expect what he said to actually take, but her moodiness was relatively surprising all things considered.

"Where's-"

"Florida."

Jason snapped his jaw shut, teeth audibly clicking at the action. The woman was leaning against the island, sipping at her cup of espresso with a tired look. It was a sudden thought halfway through pouring himself a cup of coffee, that he was alone with the two people he despised the most in this little club of misfits. He had the sudden irrational desire to check his face for sharpie marks. 

{FLORIDA: DAY 11}

"Welcome to the Everglades." Floyd griped, his rifle sweeping across the terrain. Not that he could see much past the dense foliage they were traipsing through. "Hey, Croc, think we'll see any of your cousins? Maybe a brother? Sister?" 

Croc growled under his breath, meaty fists clenching in displeasure.

"Aye aye aye. Nonna that." Santana grumbled, waving his hand slightly. "We don't need that here. Let's talk about something else."

"Like the humidity?"

"What humidity?" Croc asked obliviously, studying their surroundings warily. Waller had sent them after a facility tucked away in the middle of one of Florida's more popular national parks. Waller typically gave them the bare minimum. They were criminals, and despite their handiness, trust was a not a factor in the relationship. Flag was monitoring from the drop ship, keeping them on track to the general location of the facility. From there, they were supposed to get in, wipe out personnel -an unidentified party- and send the base up in flames.

"No like why Harley, Hood, and George aren't with us." Lawton replied, ignoring Croc's queary. The guy couldn't even feel the wind. "Harley and George I get. But I'm a sniper. I can handle close range, but the kid seems better at it than I am. Why is _he_ getting the day off and not me?"

"Explosion." Was Croc's guff reply.

"What's _that_ got to do with anything?"

 _"Easy."_ Flag -who'd preferred silently listening to the chatter most of the time- interjected over the lines. _"According to Hood's official autopsy report, it wasn't the crowbar beating or the fire that killed him. It was the smoke inhalation. I don't think he knows that though. To him, an explosion is an explosion. And I don't know about you guys, but I'm not up for dealing with a melt down or a panic attack... especially one coming from an unstable nineteen year old who specializes in killing criminals."_

"Fair point." Lawton acquiesced with a shudder. "That kid is an absolute mess."

"He's a child soldier." Santana interjected. "He said he died when he was thirteen, fourteen. How long do you think he trained with the batman _before_ that? I mean, hero or not, What kind of psychopath drags children into a life like that? I never would'a wanted that for my little girl, ya know? But it's easy. I joined the gangs when I was a kid. I felt like I was a part of something bigger. Now I know. I know that it _was_ something bigger. Something evil and rotten, somethin' I don't want to go back to. But it was easy."

"I suspect Hood never had an easy life. Perhaps joining the bat was what he percieved to be an easy way out of a miserable situation." Croc grumbled, not admitting that he knew it to be the case. Arsenal had let just enough to slip. "In Gotham... we have a place called Crime Alley, park row. Bad place, lots of drugs, gang violence, bars. This kid... Hood, patrolled it nightly, seemed possessive of it... even up until recently... when he was a vigilante. During the time he was a crime lord, he restricted trade there, concentrated his efforts into keeping the drugs away from kids. His accent matches... his posture, his mannerisms. I've been watching. I'd dare to wager he's a local. If I'm right, he came from a bad situation. I'm just guessing. May have something to do with coming back from the dead."

"He hoards food. Doesn't think I notice, but there's usually no less than two protein bars in his pillow." Santana admitted. "Typically a sign that someone went hungry for too long at some point in his life.... And expects to do so again."

"He has _that_ low an opinion of us?" Lawton asked, actually sounding slightly incredulous.

"Why should he not?" Croc replied. "He may be a criminal, but in a different light... save for his brief tenure as a crime lord, there are very few similarities between our types of crime and his. He kills people like us, believing it makes the world a safer place-"

"Well he isn't wrong."

Croc grumbled under his breath. It was pretty common knowledge that the scaly human hated being cut off. Lawton didn't much care for preferences though.

"-and that means he is _not_ our friend." Croc finished. "Just because he's a criminal doesn't mean he's on our side."

"Then why protect him?" Santana asked. "Because we all know you have been."

"Because I don't trust him."

"Bull." Lawton remarked. "Being kind to build a truce and being kind because you _actually care_ are two _very_ different things. Me? I'm being kind, because if it comes right down to it, I want the kid to think twice before he puts a bullet between my eyes. You and Santana? You're big softies. You see him as a vulnerable kid." Santana smirked, folding his arms. He knew in Lawton's case, there was just enough pity to tip the scales into caring. Maybe it hadn't happened yet, but the kid was slowly growing on the sniper.

"He is" Santana replied.

"Perhaps you're right." Croc admitted, stopping when his foot slammed down on a metal hatch. "But I wouldn't trust him fully. Despite being a mere child, he's a deadly fighter... He's dangerous. Far more dangerous than a lot of people give him credit for."

* * *

**TBC:**

_Author's note: I debated writing a chapter today._

_On the one hand, my dog died, and I've been a sobbing, tired a wreck all day. But on the other, writing helped get my mind off of it for a while. I know this isn't much, but I needed to do something. I couldn't quite handle writing happy-go-lucky, but I didn't want depressing either. So... I got this weird little bit. Outside perspective of Jason's very tricky personality._

_This chapter was a combo request._

** _Trenchcoat_ _Hunter:_ ** _Requested a mission with Santana, Croc, and Lawton. Specifically alone so they could discuss Jason_

 ** _Caliope96:_ ** _Requested a mission in Florida._

_So... I hope you all enjoyed it! I'm still open to requests, and will be until further notice._

_ALSO: I've decided **with** popular opinion to back me up, that there will be **NO** Jason and Harley ship. They'll have a sibling relationship in this story. Eventually. Don't worry. I'll do a follow up touching on what being alone with Harley and George is like in the next chapter.  
_

_As always, thanks for ALL the comments you guys have left. The MAKE my day. I really appreciate all the people who have been faithfully following this story so far, and hope to continue living up to expectations._


	11. Stir Fry

**{DAY 11}**

Jason stuck to the kitchen. He had no clue how long Santana, Croc, and Lawton would be gone, but he wouldn't let himself get cornered. The kitchen had two doors, one to the living room, one to the bedrooms, two exits, options. He knew Quinn could be a deadly force with any weapon. Her wicked agility rivaled Dick's, and she had uncanny luck wielding weapons, despite the lack of serious formal training.

And George... George was slightly heavy, but Jason had little doubt he could deck the man. However boomerang could throw things, and that might prove to be a disadvantage should the stocky criminal get emboldened by the absence of his more level headed team mates. It didn't help that Jason had been antagonizing the man for days now. Of course, if it should be George who decided to knock him out of the game, it would have been totally worth it in the long run.

In essence, Jason expected an attack.

He hadn't _stopped_ expecting an attack. Despite Santana's friendliness, and Croc's general peacekeeping abilities, Jason knew these people were his enemies. It would behoove them to take him out before he became a problem down the road. And he would. Of that, Jason had no doubt. Truth be told, he wasn't a threat to Santana or Croc -not because of anything they'd done for him since his arrival, but because they were repentant. Croc had downright saved Roy Harper's life, going out of his way to give the kid that would become Jason's best friend a chance at life.

In Santana, Jason saw a lot of himself. They'd both worked for the gangs early on, though Jason had done every thing in his power to avoid the drug trade. That didn't mean he hadn't delivered the odd package or two when money was tight, or delivered messages for the gang leaders. That was before Bruce had come into his life. Santana hadn't had anyone like that. He'd grown up, started a family, and accidentally gotten them killed with powers he hadn't yet truly learned how to control.

He could see regret and good in the man. And Jason didn't see a point in taking him out.

As loathe as Jason was to admit it, he didn't think he could kill Harley either. He'd told Cass as much. She was a victim, like him, twisted by the Joker in ways once unimaginable. But Jason wasn't entirely certain she could be helped now that he'd lived with her for nearly two weeks. But a shred of hope still lingered in his mind. She'd been sullen and unhappy since their talk, scowling, talking little to him.

The others had noticed, and rather than call Jason out, they'd enforced his words to Harley. 

Now she wasn't talking to anyone.

* * *

Jason sat at the island counter, book in hand. Though his eyes trailed across the words, his mind was elsewhere, primarily his current situation. Harley was sitting at the other end of the counter space, picking at her nails. She was just as unhappy to be here as he was. There were dark rings under her eyes, clearly from a lack of sleep, and her knee was bouncing with pent up energy she couldn't expend in any other way. 

He glanced up and saw her brow furrowed in thought, jaw tight and itching to talk, though it was a minute tremor that only his training allowed him detect. Once more, he buried his nose, unwilling to be the one to initiate whatever conversation she was gearing herself up for. Two minutes later, and she still hadn't spoken. Jason allowed his mind to waft to Green Gables alongside Anne, completely lost in the tale woven by words.

"I used ta be good."

Jason's mind snapped back to reality like a tense rubber band. He peeked over the top of his book to lock eyes with his arch nemesis' ex girlfriend, eyebrow quirking in silent questioning.

"Ya said to look back at the woman I used ta be... I used ta be good. Someone who liked to help others. My dad... he hurt me." She admitted. "And I swore... I'd nevah go back. But-" She laughed bitterly. "Now... I love a man far worse than he evah was."

Harley frowned, picking at an invisible speck on the table with her nail.

"An..."

"Ya want out, want the hurt to stop; but you're madly in love with the man." Jason surmised. "My ma was the same way." Harley looked at him in surprise, eyes glinting. 

"Did she... get out?"

Jason steeled himself, tucking away the pain. He could still see her lifeless body, slumped against the bathtub. Her lips had been so pale, eyes lifeless and empty, an empty needle still clutched in her stone cold hand. And it was at that time, that he realized just how much he hated Willis, as he begged his mother to wake up, trying desperately to emulate CPR. The little sloppy action at a child's untrained hands had been useless, and it was his father's fault. He'd been seven.

The second boy wonder swallowed thickly, trying to steel the unruly emotions that swirled in his chest. "No." He muttered "She didn't... And it got 'er killed, Harley."

"Oh..." Harley picked at a wavy orange thread dangling from the hem of her jumper sleeve. Suddenly the vulnerability vanished, replaced by a bit of a self depreciating sneer. "Bet ya'd be happy... If it were me."

Jason scoffed quietly, twirling a spoon between his fingers.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harley griped, throwing her hands in the air. Jason noted warily that her temperament had gone from angry, to nervous, to frustrated in the span of a minute-thirty. He raised an eyebrow.

"I never actually wanted to kill you." Jason finally replied. "That was the flaw in your story, when you framed me." Harley paled, quite the sight for someone with bleached skin. "It's like I said the other day-" Jason continued. "-you and I are kinda in the same boat. Sure, you're crazier, killed more people, but in the long run..."

Harley looked back down at the scuffed counter top, lips pressed tightly together.

"Stop lettin' that madman tell ya what to do. You're smarter than that." Jason planted his palms against the counter top, pushing off the stool and rising to his feet. "Much smarter."

* * *

Harley had nothing else to say. And Jason wasn't about to abandon the safest spot in the apartment. The silence was awkward as he boiled some eggs, her nail picking at a marred divot on the counter while the pan of chicken and veggies simmered next to the pot of eggs on the stove. Harley's stomach grumbled, covered by a faint cough and a scrabble for water.

For his part, Jason made no remark. He was trapped elsewhere. He hated speaking about the Joker, whether it be to snap sense into Harley or to reminisce about his stolen child hood. The name made him shiver, made him see sparks and feel impressions on his skin where cold bloody metal pelted over and over with relentless force. Sick glee. The Joker had gotten nothing short of sick sadistic glee, as if there was no better purpose than to destroy the bat by taking his child... a child who'd barely hit his teens.

Jason shook the thought, glaring at the bubbling water and white eggs lurking within. He took the pain and memories, shoving them back in the locker he'd kept them bottled in for all these years and shoving it back in the darkest recess of his mind. Something would inevitably invite it back to the fore front of his mind, give it the power to spring back open and unleash the hurt... but for now, he wanted to focus on the warm aroma of food. He could deal with the box in his nightmares.

As he stirred the food in the pan, heavy foot falls from the bedroom hallway caused his head to jerk up ever so slightly. "What's cookin'?" George gripes, glaring slightly as he sees who's at the stove.

"Food for me an' Quinn." Jason replies deadpan. He'd anticipated more hungry maws, and only planned enough for the two of them. Harley's head snapped up, eyes flickering in surprise. "There's probly somethin' in the fridge if yer hungry." He nods. George glared furiously, brows scrunched together in fury. But Jason didn't seem to care too much. He set the eggs to cool and dished up two plates of his chicken stir fry.

"Now listen here-" George took two steps forward, only to be stopped by a fork to the throat. His gaze flickered down to Harley, who hadn't even looked up from the steaming delight before her.

"Now listen 'ere, Hun. You'd better leave the kid alone. I'm eatin' and so is he. So just go would'ya?"

* * *

**TBC**

SO. I have some explaining to do. I've just been in a writing drywell for while. I haven't been inspired to write officially lately. But uh... I'm sorta back. I wanna see if I can get the gears turning again. So This chapter is brought to you apologetically! I hope you all enjoyed the read, and I'll see you soon.

PS- I have changed my user name to Silver__Hawk

**Author's Note:**

> And Badaboom! I've been agonizing over how to write this first chapter for over a day. I hope it was a good read! From this point out, it should be easier to write since it'll be one shots. I'm taking requests (non sexual), and there may be time skips between them. It'll be an interesting adventure to write. I hope you all enjoyed! Please leave a comment, suggestion, or advice to make my writing better. I'd really appreciate it!


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